Seeking Solace
by Lorial
Summary: Illidan has been slain, and the Burning Legion has been fought back. As Outland can rest, adventurers turn to their attention to Northrend. Meanwhile, an old mage is looking to return home just one last time.


The Dark Portal that had once connected the worlds of Azeroth and Outland together so many years ago had been reopened for quite some time now. Adventurers of many different races and virtues came to deal with the looming threat of the Burning Legion, and dealt a swift death to Illidan, the Betrayer within the walls of his Black Temple.

To the few who had been stranded on the broken planet for almost twenty years since the original Alliance Expedition to the orcish homeland, the surge in aid was overwhelming, no matter how late it was. The worlds were linked again, but this time the forces of the Alliance and Horde were able to band together to face a greater evil than each other.

Yet, as the broken lands came to know some peace and respite against the rampaging demons - with the impending threats being vanquished, the adventurers took their leave and returned through the portal, back to Azeroth to aid against the next threat to their world: The Lich King.

Shattrath was calm, and it was an eerie serenity that filled the city, after over a year of calamity as it was filled with forces from both the Alliance and Horde. In the center of the city, Khadgar stood. When Shattrath was filled to near capacity, he overheard many of the stories from the heroes of Azeroth. He had seen beings from Azeroth that he never encountered before. Dark skinned elves with bright eyes and ears that were far more elongated than those of the high elves he remembered. Humans and other beings that were now undead shambling corpses, still living, if one could call it that, by strange magics. And even large furred creatures that resembled bovine, but stood on two hooved feet and called themselves Tauren.

The stories he had overheard rekindled the desire within Khadgar's heart to return to his old beloved home world. He remembered how the longing feelings crept up on him and the others from the Alliance Expedition after they had sealed their fate on this broken world. At first, the group often recollected and shared stories of what they missed most of Azeroth: Home, families, foods, and the various sights. As the years passed, and new threats lurked in the shadows, the group learned that they had to put such silly notions of them ever returning home aside. This was their home now, and they were each other's family.

But now things were different… The old and wizened mage seemed more distant lately than he had been in recent years. His thoughts and desires were starting to overwhelm him recently, since there was an ounce of peace, and even a glimmer of a chance to return to Azeroth: Home.

Sensing this, A'dal, the large Naaru being of light, chimed something within the old wizard's mind. It was soft, sweet, and sounded like music being carried in the wind. Yet it was enough to snap Khadgar out of his reverie as he looked up and regarded the large shimmering being beside him.

He sighed and shook his head, "I'm sorry, my friend. My mind has been wandering lately."

Again, A'dal resonated something within the mind of the mage, and Khadgar responded with a somber, "No, I am fine. I just… I have been on this world for so many years." There was a thoughtful pause to his words before he added, "I wish to go home."

The large Naaru grew silent to Khadgar's words as it listened to him speak.

"We have a moment of rest, finally. I know I am needed here, and I will not cast aside my responsibilities. But I wish to see Azeroth, just one last time. . . I am leaving tomorrow."

The response he received within his mind sounded bittersweet and felt warm, as though A'dal supported the mage's decision to see his home once more, and Khadgar was truly appreciative of this.

It wasn't a secret that the mage had been cursed to age beyond his years after battling his old mentor many years ago. While his body still had strength, he wanted to be able to see his home one last time and give in to those silly notions that he had denied himself for almost twenty years. The very thought of returning elated him and even made the old looking mage feel a bit giddy deep down. He was going home, if even for a brief visit…

* * *

The next day, Khadgar gathered a few items and set out for his journey. His excitement warranted him little time to sleep the previous night, but he hardly felt tired as his spirits were high. After exiting his quarters within the large city, the old mage visited the flight master and procured a gryphon to carry him to the steps of the Dark Portal – the Stairs of Destiny, which he had not visited since locking the portal shut in that magical incantation of his many years ago.

As the gryphon carried him in the skies over the broken landscape below, he found himself looking down at the various areas with a small smile upon his face as fond thoughts of the broken world filled his thoughts. Khadgar took in the sights of the lands and creatures as he flew by, for one final time, before eventually landing at the steps before the portal.

The greeting he received by the Alliance and Horde standing guard was one of obvious confusion and uncertainty. They had known Khadgar, either in legend, or spoke to the man himself. But they couldn't fathom what would bring him to the portal. Their questions were only answered with a faint smile on the mage's face as he passed them and looked up towards the gargantuan structure built around the swirling vortex of the portal itself.

Again, memories flooded the mage. He remembered holding the skull of Gul'dan and other rare artifacts as his expedition members protected him; turning their backs on the mage as they shielded him from attacks of the incoming orcs trying to stop the group from closing the portal. No matter how many years had passed since then, he remembered that battle and the destruction that came afterwards like it was yesterday.

There was a sharp inhalation as he knew that now was not the time for such thoughts and memories. This was a happy occasion, a rare opportunity that he had been given. And so, Khadgar slowly ascended the steps of the portal as a few soldiers watched him curiously, until he reached the swirling green vortex. Reaching out with a single hand, Khadgar felt the immense powers of the gateway, before he held his breath and stepped through the portal, disappearing from sight.

The trip through the Nether felt like an eternity, but was over in an instant.

The sight that greeted Khadgar as he felt himself exit the reeling sensation that was in the Twisting Nether truly caused his heart to stop for a moment. The land was scorched and a barren wasteland, much like that of the Hellfire Peninsula.

The ground was red, almost as though it was saturated with blood from decades ago, and violent strikes of lightning struck the ground, leaving smoldering scorch marks in its wake.

This couldn't have been Azeroth. Maybe he somehow ended up getting lost within the Nether, if that was even at all possible through the portal. He turned to look at the large portal that he had just exited and memories suddenly flooded his vision. This was the exact dark portal that he entered some twenty years ago to stop the orcs and Azeroth from being destroyed by Ner'zhul's magics. The only other sign that this was his old homeland were the vacant outposts before the portal that were clearly a mixture of human and orcish structures.

But how could this be?

He closed the portal to save Azeroth from the destruction that Outland suffered. Yet, this land was desolate and barren - void of any signs of life aside for the few demons he could feel creeping along the edges of the crater.

Slowly, he stepped forward and approached the vacant outposts. They looked worse for wear as they had stood since the re-opening of the portal to try and stop the Burning Legion invasion. Khadgar's heart sank as he surveyed the makeshift structures, but he did not linger there for long. He had set out to see his home, and that was what he planned to do.

The older man slowly walked on, surveying the broken lands as he passed different areas such as ogre encampments, various creatures that looked warped and twisted from the energies of the land, and the shattered remnants of war machines and fortresses that once stood many years ago - long abandoned since the first or second war. He found it hard to believe that this was, in fact, once the Black Morass, one of the thickest and densest swamps in Azeroth years ago - at least the Azeroth that he remembered, which never included the lands of Kalimdor.

Eventually, a large stone structure greeted his vision in the distance. It was a keep, and the stonework looked familiar. As Khadgar continued to approach, he saw that the structure was stationed with a mixture of humans and dwarves. The tabards they wore and the banners that were being flown were purple in color - and they were familiar. Almost immediately, a bright smile made its way to Khadgar's face to the sudden sense of familiarity. Nethergarde Keep still stood. It was the very keep that he helped to construct and man against the second orcish invasion.

With newfound vigor, Khadgar quickly made his way to the familiar structure. Surely, they would be able to tell him what had happened here and inform him of Azeroth's state.

* * *

Upon reaching the entrance to the Keep, Khadgar looked around at the state of the men and women who went about their business, ignoring the old visitor at their doorstep. The look upon their faces was grim and weary. He could see that as many moved; they lacked any vigor and strength to their step, as though they had completely exhausted themselves to their tasks. Khadgar's brow furrowed at the sight, but he did approach one of the human guards nearby and asked him where their leader was situated, if he was even still around.

The man looked at Khadgar curiously, but thought of him as nothing more than a weary traveler rather than the mage that helped to build and oversee Nethergarde's construction and duties before he disappeared. With a nod, the man then pointed towards a nearby barracks, indicating that the old mage should head there for what he was seeking.

Khadgar bowed in respect towards the guard before he approached the barracks. Once inside, he was regarded once again with curious glances, but no-one stopped him. The old mage made his way up the stairs to the second story and that was where he saw two men, one human, and the other a high-elf, standing around a large table, pointing at various papers that were laid out before them.

"Pardon my intrusion," Khadgar started, as he drew their attention away from whatever military papers the two were discussing. "I am looking for General Lordeson and Archmage Thas'ranan."

The human, who looked middle aged with some streaks of grey hair starting to color the roots of his mane nodded, "We are them. Can we help you?" Just like the others, he regarded the old mage with a curiously glance, yet showed no sign of recognition.

The old mage smiled towards the two. "It's been many years since I was last here. I am glad to see that you two are still alive and running the Keep."

The way the man spoke was in such a direct manner, it sounded personal, yet the two leaders still looked stumped. Just as Lordeson was about to speak, the high-elf halted him with a raised hand. His eyes narrowed towards Khadgar and he scrutinized the older man's appearance, as though trying to recall his memory for any recollection. While he couldn't put the face immediately, the sense of magical power that emanated from the older man somehow felt familiar.

"I know you," Thas'aranan uttered lowly towards the visiting mage in a careful, yet thoughtful tone. "You seem familiar." He paused, still trying to get a feel for the older man. "Still, I cannot place your face."

The two were so used to seeing the surge of adventurers coming and going to the Keep as a means of traveling through the portal and into Outland. Surely, an old and haggard looking mage would stand out, but the two glanced at each other in a confused manner before Lordeson asked in a direct tone that lacked any humor, "Who are you?"

By now, Khadgar let out a small laugh. "And I thought I was the old one here," He chimed in jest. The old mage did pause though, as though bracing himself for impact before adding, "Khadgar."

The faces of the leaders sobered immediately as they regarded their old friend. "Khadgar?" Lordeson questioned in disbelief before his eyes narrowed, scrutinizing the old man. "If this is your idea of a game, then l suggest you leave quickly..."

"Lordeson, I assure you that this is no joke," Khadgar offered in a solemn tone. "l survived the destruction of Draenor after the portal was sealed. As did other members of the expedition."

The two commanders exchanged glances as they continued to regard Khadgar with skepticism etched on their faces. Finally after a long and silent moment, Lordeson spoke up. "Khadgar, we were told that you and the others had perished once the portal was sealed." The human's tone now sounded warmer, although the confusion in his voice was still able to be heard.

Shaking his head, Khadgar noted in a suddenly somber tone, "No, not exactly, but I can see how that assumption could be made."

It took time for the commanders to open up to their long lost leader and old friend. For the last twenty years or so, they had assumed him dead. However, once they did open their hearts, the three men laughed and spoke of many things. Khadgar noted all of the locations he had wished to visit, and the commanders told him how those areas had changed, for better and worse - which included Dalaran and Lordaeron, and how the two cities had nearly perished in the last war.

After their lengthy get together, Khadgar was shown to where the gryphons were housed. One was then entrusted to the mage as he mounted the beast and set off to his first destination...

Stormwind. Khadgar was able to see its pristine towers approaching in the distance. As the gryphon neared the great city, the old mage took in the stunning sight of it. He hadn't seen the city since it was fully rebuilt and remembered the way it appeared prior to its burning in the first war. Compared to the old stone structures, this version of Stormwind was immense and an absolute stunning architectural achievement.

Rather than land in the gryphon's roost, Khadgar tugged at a few feathers of the great beast, indicating for it to bank to the left and aim to land just outside of the city walls. He wanted to see the city in its entirety by actually walking through the front gate himself and enjoying the splendor on foot.

The gryphon did as ordered with little protest, and once they were on the ground, Khadgar dismounted the beast, petting it before turning to gaze at the immense outer walls of the last known human bastion left. The carved lions of Stormwind were there to greet him immediately - a symbol of power that the city and its people held, and a warning to all that approached with ill intentions.

Unable to help himself, Khadgar smiled at the carvings before making his way towards the front gates, passing the outer guards while doing so. The bridge leading to the city was vast in size and bustled with traffic as people rushed about to and fro on horses and other different strange and exotic mounts. Some guards patrolled the area while heralds called out the latest headlines and news to be reported for all those who were interested in current affairs.

Stormwind was certainly alive and the energy from the city was full of vibrancy. As he continued to walk on the bridge, approaching the actual city-state, Khadgar peered up to see the immense statues that lined the bridge in tribute. It caused the old man to pause in step as he saw the images of Alleria, Danath, Turalyon, and Kurdran staring back at him through stone cold gazes, immortalized.

A chill ran up his spine as he read the plaques of these statues that memorialized his very friends and compatriots. Almost immediately, Khadgar felt his heart sink. "They thought us dead?" He questioned the air before him lowly as he turned and spotted yet another statue amongst the group lining the bridge - this one of an elder mage.

Khadgar's eyes widened at the sight of his own form set into stone. He too... They thought that he too had passed. The man took a moment to steel himself and take a sharp inhalation before he gazed down to read the bronzed placard set upon his own statue, dedicated by the great mage, Antonidas. 'Presumed deceased...' A dedication to a man who has been alive all this time, written by a man who has been dead for years. The irony in the plaque wasn't out of Khadgar's reach as he felt the blood within his veins suddenly run cold. Here was his own image, set in stone, because the people of these lands thought he and the others who were part of the expedition had perished years ago...

How should one react when they see their own dedicated death memorial before them? Its a question even the knowledgeable mage had no answer to. Instead, he reached out with a wiry, aged hand, and ran his fingers along the cold and smooth metal plaque, feeling the etchings of the words against his touch. The man's eyes closed and he felt tears suddenly well up within his eyes. "Thank the Light this isn't true," he whispered to himself before the statue.

The citizens and merchants of Stormwind paid the haggard old mage no mind as they passed him along the bridge and went on with their lives. The dedications were there for a reason, and, to them, he was probably simply paying his respects. Yet, someone did take notice of the old mage.

"The Valley of Heroes," a deep baritone voice sounded behind Khadgar. "It never fails to bring up memories of the past."

Khadgar turned to meet the owner of the voice, but did not recognize the man standing before him. He was tall, even in his plated armor which adorned the crest of Stormwind, had rich brown shortly cropped hair, and a moustache.

"No," Khadgar started in a slow and composed manner. "I suppose it doesn't."

The knight smiled brightly, his face shifting suddenly from stern to warm hearted. His dark eyes glanced upwards at the large monument of the mage, and then flitted downwards; back to look at the haggard old man.

"I get a feeling that this is a bit more personal. I remember you, though," he started before his face warmed up again and the man suddenly laughed with joy. "By the Light, I never thought I'd ever see Archmage Khadgar standing before my eyes again!"

The recognition from the man eased Khadgar's heavy heart a little and he carefully smiled back at the knight for a quick moment before his features sobered. "I am glad that I haven't been completely forgotten to time. But, I must ask..." There was a pause as his eyes roamed over the younger man's form, trying to place his image to memory, yet failing at doing so. "I do not believe I remember you - if we had met at all, that is."

Even Khadgar knew that his reputation preceded him and was spoken in stories.

Again, the knight chuckled heartily before extending a hand towards the mage in formal greeting. "My apologies. I am Marcus Jonathon, High Commander of Stormwind. I was but a squire when I served under Turalyon before he left us to enter the portal. I remember seeing the both of you meeting often in those days."

While Khadgar still couldn't place the face of the man to any memory - and who would remember a squire in an army so many years back? His features did brighten once more. "Turalyon was a great man," he nodded and accepted the handshake.

"Is he..." Marcus Jonathan started in a suddenly pensive manner. "I mean, you are here - alive, when everyone thought that you and others in the expedition had passed. Is Turalyon still-"

"I am unsure," Khadgar was quick to reply in a somber tone. "I lost contact with him and Alleria long ago, sadly."

Marcus' eyes lowered as the spirit within his features dampened. "Oh, I see." It had been so long since he had seen his mentor, and with the hopes of seeing Khadgar again... It may have been foolish of him, and in realizing that, the sadness in Marcus' features didn't linger for long. "These monuments were dedicated to the expedition for all they had done in the second war and committing the ultimate sacrifice to keep Azeroth safe." His gaze wandered towards the expanse of the bridge before returning to look back at the mage once more. "Since I had been unable to say it for so many years, I want to thank you, and whoever else may still be alive for your courage and selfless dedication."

It wasn't the first time that Khadgar was thanked for his act in closing the portal nearly twenty years ago. Once Shattrath started to fill with adventurers, many clamored to hear his story, thank him and the other survivors for the heroic deed. And those whom were too young would share stories with him that their families would tell, of the Dark Portal and the closing of it to save Azeroth.

Still, it was always a humbling experience to hear it from a person first hand who wouldn't be here if it wasn't for the expedition.

With the dismissive wave of a hand, Khadgar offered, "We just did what we had to in order to keep Azeroth safe."

* * *

As the two spoke, Marcus Jonathan led Khadgar on a tour of the rebuilt city that he once knew. There were some similarities, yet other remarkable changes made within the districts, which the old mage noted as he passed. One keen difference were the citizens. Rather than just humans, they were a myriad of races which gave the city some cultural backdrop the likes of which he never witnessed before within Old Stormwind before it was razed.

The two continued their journey, passing along the canals. They soon came to a stop before Stormwind Keep. Marcus glanced down at the elder mage and smiled. "I'm certain there's someone in the keep who would be happy to see you again, Khadgar."

The mage lifted a brow in a curious glance towards Marcus Jonathan's suggestion. Of course, it didn't take him long to figure out who Marcus was referring to. Khadgar sighed contently as he glanced up alone the path leading to the inside of the keep, which was lined with guardsmen. "I still remember his father," he noted faintly before nodding in agreement to the idea.

The two then walked ahead and made their way inside the keep, climbing up its sloped path that was lined with knights. As they passed, the guards saluted Marcus Jonathan in respect and offered the old mage a quizzical glance. The keep looked much larger, and more elaborate, than Khadgar remembered the original one to be. Whoever the stone masons were, they did a fine job with the city...

Then they approached the top of the path, which opened up into a rather large circular room that housed a number of advisors and ambassadors from different regions, who were all pacing and milling about. There also sat a rather large, and tall, throne in the room, which was supported by two lions on either side. The whole sight was something almost awe-inspiring for Khadgar to take in. He wasn't new to visiting the Stormwind Keep, but was certainly new to seeing it in this current condition and design.

His eyes then fell upon the impressive man in the middle of the room who was surely Varian. Khadgar had remembered Varian when he was but a mere child as they fled to Lordaeron when Stormwind fell. He even remembered the news of the King's birth being told throughout the lands. Now, here he was as a fully fledged adult well into his prime. The thought instantly made Khadgar feel as old as he appeared to be.

"Your Majesty," Marcus suddenly spoke up in an authoritative voice to draw the attention of the King. "There is a visitor here to see you."

Varian Wrynn paced about the front of his throne as advisors came to him from seemingly all directions. Some held scrolls, others books, as they all sought his attention to what they believed were pressing matters. Funding for the move to Northrend, armaments to send out, finalizing the city budget, etc. The interruption from Marcus was a breath of fresh air for the King. Attention suddenly drawn onto Marcus, Varian waved a hand as a sign for the advisors to leave him be. The King's brow arched in a curious manner as he regarded the commander.

"Marcus, I am busy with planning the expedition to Northrend. This had better be important," he warned in a low voice that dripped with a shrewd undertone.

The High Commander bowed before his King, and then offered, "It is, your Majesty." Gesturing with a hand to his side, he stated, "Archmage Khadgar of Shattrath."

As if on cue, the old mage lowered to one knee before Varian.

It wasn't the title, but the name that caused some of the guards and advisors to turn and regard the wizard suddenly. Varian, himself, stood there silently for a moment, as though stunned, before he snapped out of his reverie and blinked. "I thought they were merely rumors by adventurers," he remarked, sounding clearly taken back by the presentation of the old mage whom he knew since childhood. Clearly, he had heard some rumor milling about Stormwind after he had returned, about Khadgar's presence being alive, but chalked it to nothing more than tales to keep morale high.

Approaching Khadgar, Varian spoke in a soft tone, one that sounded more personal than the authority of a King. "Khadgar, rise, please."

As the mage did, Varian gazed over the features of the haggard looking mage that was robbed of his youth. There was a spark of excitement and astonishment within the King's eyes. The two stood there for a moment before Varian smiled and reached out to place both of his hands upon the mage's shoulders in an amiable fashion. "It is great to see you again, Khadgar."

"And you as well, Your Majesty."

With the wave of his hand, Varian dismissed, "There is no need for formalities. You are a friend to my family and to the city of Stormwind."

The three then moved to one of the back rooms within the center of the keep, which was usually reserved as an exquisite hall for the King and other leaders to meet and discuss diplomacy in a welcoming environment. The room hadn't been used for some time now, especially as matters were being pressed on the issues of Northrend and the Lich King.

Yet, as they sat and dined on food and spirits, they were eventually joined by Bolvar Fordragon, and shared stories of their lives and adventures... The time Varian spent as a pit fighter for the Horde, the troubles that the Defias Brotherhood and black dragonflight pressed upon Stormwind, and the stories of fighting the Burning Legion and fel orcs upon an alien world.

Then, as the evening started to press on, a simple and small knock came upon the door before it opened slightly. "Father?" Came the sight of a small blonde haired boy as he peeked his head into the hall.

The boy was greeted with a welcoming smile and a wave of the King's hand. "Come in, my son. I have someone I want you to meet," Varian beckoned to the boy in a loving manner.

The boy, his son, entered the hall, quietly closing the door behind him before coming to stand at his father's side at the table. He was dressed in the finest silks that the kingdom could provide, and there was no question in Khadgar's mind that this was the new heir to the throne.

Varian smiled and pointed towards the mage while facing his son. "This is an old friend of mine, Khadgar. He's a powerful mage that knew your grandfather and helped Stormwind many times."

Pressing formalities first, the boy offered Khadgar a respectful bow and spoke in a stately manner, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Sir." That is before he spotted some fruit on the table and started to try and reach for some grapes to pluck from the bunch and eat.

Memories flooded Khadgar as he looked towards Varian's son, who was around the same age as Varian, when he had to help the then prince escape from a city being burned after his father was stabbed - by Garona, an orcish woman he used to know personally. Despite the years that passed since the events, seeing the new heir to the Wrynn throne was, in a word: Haunting.

Despite the numerous memories starting to cloud his vision, Khagar smiled and turned towards Varian. "What a respectful young man. What is his name?"

Varian glanced towards his son before giving Khadgar a sidelong glance and deadpanning, "Anduin Llane."

The name was uttered like a secret password to a long forgotten treasure and just dangled on the balance of allowing those floodgates of memories to come crashing open.

Khadgar fell silent as he regarded the boy once more, but with that name spoken, the memories came back. This time it wasn't of Varian, but of the Lion of Stormwind - Anduin Lothar. The man who epitomized the word courage in his lifetime. He helped Khadgar lead the citizens of the fallen Stormwind to Lordaeron and even helped the mage slay a beast that he wished he never encountered. His thoughts also shifted to remembering the late King Llane. Khadgar didn't know the man personally, but was able to meet him on several occasions with his old mentor, Medivh.

After a few moments of silence passed, the mage smiled in a simple manner and stated towards Varian in a low voice, "I could think of no better way to keep Lothar and your father's spirit alive."

"Neither could I," Varian nodded before turning to look at his son, who was now aiming for the sweets on the large table that he was trying to stealthily sneak away with, and failing miserably at doing so.

Once the group had their fill, they spoke for a bit longer, until the stars started to appear within the sky and night was settling in. With the expedition to Northrend still being planned and on the cusp of becoming a reality, Varian had matters to attend to in the morning - though the meeting with Khadgar was a welcomed reprieve from the pressing matters that reality had set upon him.

As the three left the hall, Marcus Jonathan left the two so he could head home for the evening. Since Khadgar had no place to stay for the night, Varian decided to accommodate the mage by letting him rest in one of the many guest bedrooms that the keep housed. He knew that the mage wanted to continue his journey in the morning and had a servant show the mage to his quarters.

* * *

Once the golden rays of dawn flecked over the horizon, Khadgar dressed and prepared for the journey ahead. Despite what he was told back at Nethergarde, the mage wanted to see the lands for himself...

After leaving the city, where his mount laid, resting, Khadgar climbed onto the back of the beast and kicked it into motion.

North. It was the direction he steered the gryphon to go. The mage flew over the ever changing landscape of the eastern lands, flying over the desolate and fiery Searing George to the sprawling plains of the Arathi Highlands. Eventually, he came to pass the Alterac Mountains and was able to see beyond the mountains peaks. What should have greeted him would have been the magnificent sight of the mage city-state known as Dalaran. Instead, it was a crater with a magical aura that pulsed around the rocky outcropping of land. Further north, into Lordaeron, and the mage was greeted with the sights of decay and death. Even the great city of Lordaeron appeared in shambles as undead creatures he had never seen before littered the landscape, and the very environment appeared to ways and twist with disease.

So different...

Khadgar felt his heart reach down to the pit of his stomach at the sights. All that he knew, the memories of the lands that he cherished were lost to time.

The mage tugged on the feathers of the gryphon he rode and ordered it to change directions. There was still one more location he wished to visit. A tower.

As the gryphon flew and neared its destination, the ground turned dark, barren, and void of any sustainable life. Lynched bodies hung from natural rock overhangs and precipices, slowly decaying and being forgotten to time as buzzards pecked away at what little flesh remained on the corpses.

That was the only sign of anything here living, aside for the large number of ogre encampments that were spotted while flying over the pass. Deadwind Pass.

Khadgar felt butterflies creeping and starting to swim with his gut at the sight of the approaching tower, which looked more menacing and haunting now that it had long since been occupied by any real caretakers. It too was decaying and being forgotten to time.

The closer the gryphon got, the more it screeched and bucked wildly in the air, protesting to go any further without a swift kick in the side by Khadgar. He managed to get the beast to head towards the river near the tower and land upon the ground. But still, his mount clearly appeared to be spooked by something, as both its feathers and fur, stood on end and it warily glanced about itself.

Leaving the gryphon, Khadgar turned and looked towards the imposing and haunting image of the tower that loomed before him. Some of the foundation was cracked and other parts had fallen entirely. This was a long cry from what he remembered many years ago, back when he called it home for a time.

But like Dalaran, which was destroyed, and was once his home, it appeared that Karazhan was seeing a similar fate.

That sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach didn't exactly help either... Yet, the man marched ahead, determined to see this ancient tower one last time.

The outcropping village appeared to be decimated to age and other entities that Khadgar didn't want to know. Spirits and apparitions appeared in the broken down homes and buildings. Some seemed to know that they were stuck in limbo, and howled with frustration and rage, while others were blissfully unaware of their predicament and showed it by going about their old mundane lives on a seemingly endless loop.

He paid the apparitions little mind and proceeded to make his way to the front gate of the tower. There, it looked like a number of mages from the Kirin Tor were loading up crates onto a horse drawn wagon. For years, back when he was a young adult, the Kirin Tor were always fascinated by the unforetold secrets housed within Karazhan. It looked like they were finally coming to clear house amidst the ruins.

Khadgar had encountered many an adventurer in Shattrath that mentioned their raids into the mysterious tower. He had even seen some with items, treasures from within Karazhan that he remembered from long ago. Finally, there were the rumors of what lurked inside - vile and strange things of unmentionable horrors. That aspect was no different from what he remembered when he lived here.

As the old mage approached the tower front, to slip inside the opened front gate as the Kirin Tor were busy with their magical pillaging, he was called out to in a halting manner.

"You can't go in there!" One of the mages called out to him from behind.

Khadgar hesitated for a moment before he turned around to face the group. Calmly, he asked, "Why is that?"

"The Kirin Tor has secured the tower. We are in the middle of an operation that-"

"You mean stealing away the secrets," Khadgar interjected with a raised accusatory brow and knowing smirk drawn upon his face.

The mage whom was speaking suddenly went quiet as he stepped away from overseeing the loading of the wagon and approached Khadgar, eyeing the older man scrupulously. "I don't know who you are, but I am certain that you have no business here. Nothing is left within Karazhan aside for a few stray ghosts."

Overconfident and cocky was exactly how this mage came off to be, and it didn't seem to faze Khadgar in the least. He remembered back when he was an apprentice with Medivh while receiving secret letters from the Kirin Tor, all asking questions as they wanted to use him to plunge into the depths of the secrets within that tower.

It worked... To a degree, but they hardly received anything from it in return. It looked like the Kirin Tor was finally making a stand here to get what they wanted though, after all these years.

Unable to help himself, Khadgar shook his head towards the other mage. He straightened, standing at full height before narrowing his eyes and stating in a very clear-cut manner, "I have every right to be here, as former apprentice of the great Magus, and neither you nor the Kirin Tor will prevent me from my former home."

As Khadgar turned on his heel to open the large solid door and disappear inside, the mage stood there, confused, as he watched the older man go and tried to piece together what the man had said. It took a moment, but it finally hit him. Khadgar...

By the time the younger mage went to speak up and question Khadgar, even stop him, he had already disappeared inside the tower's depths.

Inside the tower, the years of neglect were obvious. Large and thick cobwebs were spun and interlinked, preventing one from walking forward without getting tangled within them. The echoing screeches of rodents were heard in the nearby distance, and the only other sounds to greet any visitors were the strange noises of distant footsteps and laugher which hung on the wind, howling down some distant chamber somewhere.

A chill ran down Khadgar's spine at the feel of being back inside the foreboding tower once more. He could still feel that immense power was present within the tower, regardless of its poor conditions. Yet, he pressed on, moving past the stables and up the main steps to where the banquet and entertainment halls were.

The halls were stripped of any value. Precious metals that were carved into the walls and into the items that would have lined decaying cupboards all ceased to exist. No doubt that the numerous adventurers who had their claim here, as well as the Kirin Tor, and whatever other bandits roamed the area, all had their share of pillaging the tower of any valuables.

The lights were still lit, but not by flame set by a person, instead by a strange ethereal glow that seemed endless. It was just one of the many mysteries that the tower held within its walls. Occasionally, a glimmer of something would appear in the corner of Khadgar's eye, and then disappear the moment the man turned to face it fully. Whether it was simply a wandering spirit or something else, was beyond him.

Khadgar moved onwards, cautiously and as quietly as possible, while he took in the saddening sight before his eyes as walls were crumbled, valuable paintings either defaced or completely missing from their wall mounts, and some sculptures were toppled over, being long forgotten.

He almost felt sick to be standing here and seeing the tower in such condition, and the sense to turn back and leave grew as quickly as the chill upon the back of his neck when he would suddenly hear a strange creak in the distance, or a whisper on the wind calling to him from whereabouts unknown. At times, strange lights would glimmer in the rooms he stood in. These strange lights showed brief moments of either the past, or the future. He never liked to look at the flashes of what he always wished were mirages. Sadly, these temporal distortions were caused by the ley lines that ran underneath the tower, and the visions held truths. Most of the time, unpleasant ones.

But, the brazen mage continued on. He passed the opera house, which was now littered with cobwebs and apparitions. Some sat in seats and applauded a show that wasn't there, while others conversed unaware of the living intruder in their midst.

Eventually, he found himself at the grand library, where the mage had spent most of his time here at the tower when younger. Unable to help himself, Khadgar smiled at the faint familiarity in the condition of the library. "Always was a mess," he said with dry humor laced in the words.

The library was the biggest task that Khadgar was set to when he was younger. No matter how many times he organized it, it always wound up in the same condition: A disaster.

The tower wasn't always this decrepit. He remembered a time when it was alive. Where he studied and trained, where Garona was the strange and shadowy ambassador for the orcs that he had come to know and respect as a person. And where his mentor, known to many as 'The Mad Medivh', often wandered the halls to disappear and not show himself for days aside for dinner and emergencies when he had to enact as the Guardian and protect the citizens of Azeroth from the small number of demons that slipped through the fold.

But back then, Lothar was alive, Llane ruled Stormwind, Terenas ruled Lordaeron, Varian was a child, Dalaran stood tall, and the northlands of Lordaeron were precious and untainted as the Burning Legion never invaded and crafted such destruction. Back then, there was no such thing as the Lich King, the Scourge, or other dangers such as the Naga. That was back in his time - a simpler time, which was a far cry from what Azeroth was today...

The more he saw with his eyes, and the more stories he heard with his ears, the more that Khadgar knew within his heart that this wasn't his home anymore. This wasn't his Azeroth.

The man, who was regarded as a savior to many, felt like an alien within his own homeland at this point. Too many years had passed. For far too long, that Dark Portal had been sealed shut - sealing his fate along with it.

The excitement that initially filled his senses and stirred him awake at night that he was finally going back home, to Azeroth, had all but left him. Now all that remained was this strange sensation of emptiness. It felt hollow, like a victory that wasn't won with honor.

He hadn't realized it for so many years until just now, but Outlands was now his home. It was where he belonged as an old wizened mage, long since his prime, whose service to his homeland was lost to the pages of history.

With a heavy heart and a deep sigh, Khadgar tried to stifle the emotion from allowing those floodgates to open. He turned and glanced upwards towards the high dusty ceiling above, and then motioned... Not to venture further into the depths of the tower, but to head back home.

To Outland.


End file.
